


I Don't Love You, I'm Just Passing The Time

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco, Ryden - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Ryden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 5:53 am and i am So Sorry</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Love You, I'm Just Passing The Time

**Author's Note:**

> Quite literally the first ryden ive ever written so have fun with this Sin Trash also its in first person i know but this is all im good at so cool your jets

It's 2 am. We could be out with the rest of the guys drinking, but we excuse ourselves from the festivities that go along with the final night of tour because being together is better than being drunk or high. He's the only person who's ever made me feel that way.

We retire to Brendon's room because it's just a ritual at this point. We always go to his room ever since we've had the luxury of having separate rooms. There's no rhyme or reason, it's just habit. It's almost ridiculous that we put the money in for the separate rooms when we all know I won't be using mine. But we need a cover even if that cover is useless. Even if everyone knows we have to pretend like they don't because what we do is dangerous and we know it.

Brendon is spread beautifully beneath me on this queen size bed looking so wonderfully wrecked and disheveled. I've got my free hand between his legs and he's gasping and whining helplessly against my lips about how he wants me inside of him, how he just can't take it anymore, how he loves me. And I don't know if it's the heat of our bodies or the hormones racing or the blood rushing out of my brain but for once I believe him. I've never believed him before but I believe him now. He must be out of his mind to love me, though. I don't deserve him. There's nothing about myself I can find that's worth his love.

I'm clumsily working at undoing the button of my jeans when I stop dead. I'm looking down into his brown eyes, his stupid brown eyes that genuinely sparkle and shine when he's smiling, and they're sparkling now. But they're not sparkling with his trademark smile. They're sparkling with tears. Tears that are too heartbreakingly large, spilling down his cheeks. He's breathing heavy with something. Maybe it's anxiety, maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's his own arousal. But I can't pick it out. I've never been good at reading this boy and it always gets me in trouble. I should be ashamed of myself.

He's swallowing hard now, biting down hard on his full bottom lip, trying to choke whatever it is that's raging on inside of him back.

"I..." I start. But I don't know what to say. Words fail me. I can write 4 minute songs about the sun and moon, about candled swans and wax ponds, about him. But I never know what to say when he's looking me in the eyes like this.

"Why won't you ever say it back?" He whispers shakily.

"Bren..." I'm relaxing back against my heels now. I fucked up. I'm always fucking him up. Fucking this up. Fucking us up.

"I love you, Ryan." He says indignantly, forehead creased.

"I know." I reply dumbly. God what am I doing. What the fuck am I doing.

"I.... You _know_?" His eyebrows furrow.

"Yeah... Yeah." I don't know what to say. There is so much I can do and express with a simple song but I don't know how to do or express things in real reality. Especially not to him.

How the fuck do I tell this beautiful boy that I don't love him? That I can't love him. That I want him, every piece of him, but I don't know how to love him the way he wants me to. How do I tell him that I'm too fucked up to give myself to him? There are too many things wrong with me. If I let myself love him, I'm just going to let myself down. And more importantly I'll let him down too. He'll see just how bad I am at Love. Someone out there deserves him, but it's surely not me. I will never deserve this gorgeous boy. It blows my mind daily that he lets me have him when he shouldn't. This kid must be a major masochist to let me hurt him the way I do.

He sits up now, getting on his knees and sitting back on his heels, mirroring me. He reaches for his own pants that are hanging off the side of the hotel bed and pulls them into his lap. Fat tears are still collecting in the corners of his eyes and dripping down his perfect rosy cheeks.

"I just... Wish... God I don't know." He laughs exasperatedly and turns his face up to the ceiling, wiping his tears away with the backs of his thumbs.

"I just wish... I didn't feel so used by you when we..." His voice is cracking and breaking. He's stuttering as he searches for the next words in his sentence. "Make love."

He says "make love" with such uncertainty, like he doesn't know if that's what we're doing when we do this. Like he doesn't know if it's sex, love making, or just animalistic fucking. He doesn't know. But baby, I don't know either.

"Are you using me?" His brown eyes look so sad and my heart is shattering. "I just want to know what this is to you. I know you said... You said this was just... Friends with benefits. Or whatever. But this has clearly gone too far. This has clearly turned into something more. And I want to know what this has turned into for you, Ryan."

I worry my bottom lip between my teeth and search for a good answer.

"I don't want to get hurt, Ryan." He looks so small when he's upset like this.

I muster some courage and reach my hand out for his. He's pliant but not exactly responsive as I lace our fingers together on his knee. 

"I just need time." I say. It feels like I haven't spoken in ages.

"I can only give you so much time." His eyes are cast down. He's staring at our linked hands and his thumb is stroking back and forth against my forefinger. I can't take my eyes off his dewey thick eyelashes set against his cheeks that are splotchy and red from his tears.

A beat passes and before I know it he's climbing into my lap, tossing his pants aside once more and burying his face in the crook of my neck as he wraps his arms around me. His breathing is heavy but even. He's inhaling me. Committing my scent to memory.

I close my eyes and run my hands up his spine, feeling every bump and ridge and curve. If he's going to commit me to memory I'll commit him to memory too.

"I love you, Ryan." He whispers, but it's muffled by my skin.

I clutch him tight at the words. The words he's always saying. Those words that he won't let me forget, not for a second. Those word's that he wants me to say back so so bad. I sigh and turn my head in to his neck, breathing in, reciprocating his actions.

"I know, baby. I know."

He's kissing my neck now, leaving a wet trail from under my ear, to my jaw, to my own lips. There's a bitterness in his kiss. I can taste it on his tongue as he slides it against mine. That bitterness is sadness. It's sorrow. A kind of sorrow I can't imagine.

It's slow now. Less rushed. It's not like the other times when we've stumbled into hotel rooms and bedrooms and bunks and backstage bathrooms, laughing with intoxication on our breath and raw sex dilating our pupils. This is different. It feels like a fucking goodbye. And in a way, I know it's a goodbye. Because he's realizing I can't give him what he needs. And it hurts, but the truth always hurts.

He's lying beneath me once again. Sweat is pooling between his knitted brows and he's biting his lip raw as I stretch him with my long fingers. I don't use the lube we always keep on hand. I use nothing more than a combination of both of our spit because that's what he said he wanted.

"I want it to hurt." He's whimpering to me. "Just your spit. It's okay."

So I give him what he wants.

I feel like I'm fingering him for hours but I know it's only been less than a couple minutes. His voice is hoarse when he chokes out that he's ready. And it's even rougher when he grabs my wrist and shakes his head as I reach for a condom. Our eyes lock and I swallow. Okay. Okay. It's okay.

I make sure my pants and shirt are all the way off before I position myself at his entrance because I want to do this right. I don't want this to be like all the times before.

He's shimmying his button-down off and away from his shoulders as I start to push in and a gorgeous high pitched "ah" escapes his lips and his eyes slip shut.

When I'm inside I move slowly, so slowly, and I take my god forsaken time. His hands roam my back and neck and tangle in my hair and my hands roam his chest and cup the side of his face and tangle in his hair. We kiss but we don't kiss often because we're memorizing each other like this. We're focusing on remembering what either one of us looks like when we fuck and come and make love.

I lace our fingers together and pin his hands above his head that's buried so deep in the pillow. I don't want him to touch himself. I want to fuck him till he comes. I want to be the reason he loses it.

And I do. I am.

The pace quickens as I feel myself draw closer to the end. My guts tighten and I begin to slam into him borderline violently. With every thrust a whiny grunt comes from the back of his throat. It doesn't take long before I'm spilling inside of him and I'm letting go of one of his hands, reaching down between our bodies and tugging at his hard cock, trying to get him to follow before I go soft. And he does follow. His come spills over my thin fingers on the upstroke and we're looking into each others eyes as he writhes and gasps underneath me. We stay like that for a long while, too long, and we won't unlock the gaze we have on each other as I go soft inside of him and he goes soft in my hand.

I slip out and we hiss in unison, a chorus of air and saliva rushing through teeth. He's straining his neck to reach up and kiss me as I wipe my hand on the bedsheets and I oblige, leaning down and letting him press his wet raw mouth against mine. He's humming against my mouth and pulling me down to rest and mold myself against him. I let myself be vulnerable for once. I let him hold me.

We might do this a couple more times. We might fight and fuck for another week. Maybe another month. But it'll only go so far. Because this boy has gotten wise. His eyes are wide open and he's woken up. In a moments time I will lose him.

And that's okay, because someone much better than I deserves him much more than I do.


End file.
